A Monthly Publication

By Norman Whye

I have a wad of fond memories of the old council owned allotment, that my father acquired, and my family used until, not all that many years ago, I relinquished it, as I was gardening for a living, and the amount of work to cope with a full allotment became prohibitive. I can quite readily recall the happy hours, and the success of home produced crops, that rewarded us and kept the freezer full for months. There is always a feeling that home crops have definitely a better taste than the expensive, perfectly formed, bought produce in the shops.

The bottom of the plot, Mother always called it the top, joined the big field, and there was a scraggly old blackberry bramble hedge there- which afforded some protection from interlopers, and provided a secure home for ground living animals, and small birds, sometimes a “Sunday Lunch” sprang out, and gave a chance of a shot from my Father’s old gun, and the resultant delicious meal was savoured with relish, not only from the flavour, but the reward for a part of contributing to the feeding of the family.

One year, for some reason, there was a glut of big, juicy blackberries all on, and in the hedge, and the thought came to mind to try and make some wine from the fruits. Well, it would deter the inevitable wastage of the plant’s prolific produce, so I collected about 4 lbs (2.25kg)of the berries, not without acquiring the multitude of nicks, picks, scratches and lacerations to my person, and clothes, and started the procedure to make my first attempt at home wine.

Luckily, there was a little shop which stocked home brewing, and wine making  equipment, and I soon arrived back home with a nice new plastic bucket, a thing called a “demijohn”-which looked like a large glass bottle, with a narrow neck, with little handles on it-a small packet of sterilising powder, a tub of aspirin resembling “campden tablets” a little bottle of “pectin-destroying enzyme” a sachet of dried yeast granules, a large cork, with a neat hole bored down the centre, and a glass thing, called an “airlock” which fitted into the cork-and together, I discovered fitted the neck of the demijohn. Borrowing mother’s wooden spoon, plastic funnel, and little pestle and mortar, and large sieve, I set about starting my brewing career.

I washed the fruit in the bucket, using the sieve to find and remove disagreeable fruits, leaves, buds, thorns, and other horrors, added a teaspoon of pectin destroying enzyme, and grinding up a campden tablet with the mortar and pestle, and adding that, I added about 5 ½ pints of water ( about 3.5 litres), covered the bucket with a clean kitchen towel, and left it till the next morning. While I was waiting, I dissolved about a teaspoon of sugar in a cup, or glass in a little slightly warm water, and added the yeast from the sachet,(you could also add a little wine yeast nutrient also, if available).

Next morning, I found that the yeast had fermented in the cup, so I added a little more sugar, and added this mixture to the bucket, gave it all a little stir, and recovered it. I left the bucket in a corner of a warm room for a few days, and then found that a sort of crust had formed on the surface of the mixture, fermentation had taken place, and the next stage was ready to be done. Now I had to buy a bag of granulated sugar from the shop, borrowed a large piece of muslin from mother, ( the home-brew shop sometimes sells nylon bags for this purpose), and after rinsing out the demijohn with clean water, I strained out the contents of the bucket, into a large clean bowl, and dissolved the bag of sugar (1kg) into the liquid. Using the clean funnel, I transferred the “must” as it is called, into the demijohn, corked it with the airlock, with a little water in it, and put it on the mantelpiece. I tied a little label to the handle naming what was in the demijohn.

              A few days later, there was a right old turmoil going on in the demijohn. Numerous bubbles were rising in the liquid, and bubbling through the water in the airlock. This went on for a few days, then the fermentation eased off, but took some time to stop completely, during which the liquid had a noticeable clarity in it.

              I scrounged some empty wine bottles from the local club, but the home-brew usually sells clear bottles, and new corks, but the best was an empty gallon whisky bottle, complete with screw cap, as this held the whole contents of the demijohn, but six empty 75clbottles should suffice, you will need new corks for these. Use clean water, with some sterilising powder dissolved in it, to ensure that the bottles are clean. Transfer the contents of the demijohn to the bottles, it is easier with a piece of clear plastic tubing, cork the full bottles, and always tie a little label to each, as in not so many months, you will have forgotten what the contents are, and then store the bottles in a cupboard, or dry place, for a few weeks, as the wine will mature after being stored for a little while.

“Would you care for a little glass of my special, blackberry wine, Vicar,” I asked on one of his very occasional calls. Nodding with anticipation, and agreement, I brought out a bottle, uncorked it, and poured two glasses.

The wine had a lovely clarity, and the aroma, brought back immediately the memory of those lovely calm, warm summer days, of peace and tranquility of the old allotment. The good reverend did not decline another glass, and soon we were conversing in warm, friendly reminiscences, of days past, and the people of the congregation, some sadly, no longer with us, the antics of us young choristers, friends, past and present, until the chime of my old clock decided that it was time for the vicar to leave, and continue his parish visitations. I let him out of the front door, and watched as he gently meandered along the pavement, occasionally catching his sleeve on a hedge, and waving, and smiling to every passing car, and pedestrians. My blackberry wine was certainly a very good vintage.